bright blue lighters
by silent-entrance
Summary: She's just doing what everyone expects of her, really.


The first rebellious thing which made Sam Puckett feel like a real, clichéd mess of a teenager was use the fake I.D her cousin had gotten her two years ago for her 14th birthday and the curves puberty had given her at about the same time to purchase a packet of Marlboros and a bright blue lighter from the 24 hour convenience store down the road. She didn't really want to smoke them, because she had seen first-hand just how gross it made your skin and her uncle coughed _all the time_ and if Spencer smelt them on her, he would probably kill her; it was just that she felt lonely, and every boring teen movie ever made in the history of eternity had taught her that when angry at friends and feeling sort of angst-ridden, do something you know you shouldn't.

Drinking would have been too easy, all she had to do was go to the back of the fridge to the container marked 'BOOKS' and steal a bottle of something-which-burnt-her-throat from her mums stash. Besides, she had to go to the Shay's that afternoon to practise the new iCarly skit and it was bad enough being the third wheel while sober. It wasn't that her two best friends were 'technically' going out yet- she just noticed the shared glances between the two and the fact that Freddie was always there before her and always stayed a little bit later; Carly commenting on how _good looking_ Freddie had gotten and isn't it weird how sometimes people's feelings change?

Whatever. So that was why she had bought the cigarettes. Because she wanted to prove that she could smile and cross her arms _the right way_ and maybe giggle a tiny bit and the boy sitting behind the counter with the bad skin and pretty eyes would smile back; to prove that someone, _someone_ wanted her and not Carly. And also because she didn't really want to sleep with someone, which was her only remaining option if going by the checklist of crappy teenage sob stories.

The lighter was her favourite part. She had been sitting on her unmade bed for the past hour, just flicking it on and off, ignoring the phone next to her as it lit up over and over ("Sam, where are you?" "You're late, again." "This is getting ridiculous, Sam!" "Kid, is everything alright? Carly and Freddie are getting worried.") because no, everything wasn't alright, but blue was her favourite colour and the feeling of the flame when her thumb slipped off the small wheel that tiny bit too much made her jump, just to remind her that even if she didn't let people hurt her, things still could.

She glanced down at the unopened packed of cigarettes, sitting next to her on the bed, and-no, not unopened anymore. She still didn't think she wanted to smoke them, because that gnarly ad Carly had made her watch about the girl who went to smoke the cigarette but it turned into a hook which went through her lip had scared her a little bit, just don't tell. _Hooked, _get it? Stupid, surely you'd notice before a rusty hook went straight through your lip. And isn't it weird how she's always the one people think they need to help? But she had gotten them to prove a point, and paid for them because she didn't do things halfway, and the lighter was getting sort of old as the room got darker and darker and her vibrating phone got more and more annoying.

She pulled out the first white stick, rolling it between her fingers. That's another thing it did, she'd seen it on her mum. Made your fingertips look dirty all the time. Carly would never smoke; she cared too much about her appearance. So maybe she should do it. Because Carly was the pretty one who everyone loveslovesloves, so who cared what her fingers looked like?

Picking up the plastic lighter, she flicked her thumb over the wheel once more, bringing it to life. She liked that; the power which came with turning something on.

She lit the first cigarette, admiring the way the smoke curled through the air like it was dancing and listening to the sizzle of the paper as it burnt down to her fingertips, burning until she could feel the heat all through her body and she had to put it out before it hurt too much to still be nice.

She lit the second and third and fourth, and it wasn't until the fifth that she realized most people didn't get the thrill out of testing how long they could hold onto the heat for, and tentatively raised it to her lips.

She inhaled and coughed up a lung, before deciding that being an angsty teenager wasn't as fun as it looked in movies. After putting out number five, she emptied the rest onto her lap, six seven eight nine ten, and slowly pulled each stick apart, emptying the tobacco into a cup on her bedside table and throwing the paper into her bin before throwing her phone at the wall and going to the bathroom to take a shower.

On the other side of town, Carly was telling Freddie she had _tried_ to figure out Sam's feelings but she was so bloody _cryptic_ all the time and you'll never know until you ask; and Freddie was telling Carly that he appreciated all the help she was giving him but no one would ever understand Samantha Puckett, and where the hell is she anyway?

And Spencer Shay ignored the two teenagers on his couch and tried to hide the smile on his face as he cut up carrot for dinner; because he knew, and they would too, soon.


End file.
